Infestation
by groovyarchitect
Summary: 'He kept a tight grip on his cellphone, reminding himself not to crush the device in case he got another call.' Zombiverse!Glee. It's a companion to The Clean Up, but this story features Jesse, Shelby, and Beth as they try to find other survivors.


The curly haired young man raced down the abandoned streets, eyes scanning the decaying chunks of reanimated flesh and rotting corpses that littered them. Soon enough, those people would be getting up, lacking the ability to speak, wondering what had happened to them, and wondering why they craved the brains of living. At least, that's what he'd seen in the horror movies. Once they were up and...limping?-no, stumbling-the UCLA freshman would have to go through another front of them; he only thanked God that they weren't anyone he knew.

He kept a tight grip on his cellphone, reminding himself not to crush the device in case he got another call. The young man replayed that last frantic call in his mind over and over while he was running to remind himself why he _must_ keep going.

_"Jesse! Are you there? Th-They're...Oh, God, Jesse, they're trying to get into house!" Shelby Corcoran croaked, making sure her doors and windows were bolted tightly as she lowered her voice so Beth wouldn't wake up. She looked around, realizing that there was nothing more to barricade the doors or windows with, be it in the basement or in the attic, and retreated into Beth's nursery. The almost-Broadway-Star and now the coach—now maybe ex coach—of Vocal Adrenaline would die before anything lay a finger on her baby. "I'm here with Beth right now...what about you?" She whispered, ignoring her student's frantic pleas to leave because she knew they were useless._

_"Listen, that doesn't matter. I'll come find you, alright?" He exclaimed, trying to boost his coach's morale. His own parents were off somewhere, on vacation and away from Ohio, so they couldn't help. He possessed no knowledge of the rest of the Adrenaline crew (after a myriad of calls he concluded their phones were dead) and hoped for the best. Therefore it was his duty to rescue the woman he thought of as a mother. Through the phone he could hear wet thuds, groans of the zombies trying to enter Shelby's home, the wails of her adopted daughter Beth, and static softly crackling in the background._

_ "Coach, just wear a showface because I swear on all of my volumes of Lionel Richie that I'll save you." The curly-haired St. James took a deep breath to continue, needing the oxygen to power his determined sprint and conversation. "We'll go somewhere safe, y'know, like Broadway."_

_She smiled wanly. Typical Jesse. "...We'll find Rach-" The woman muttered, merely thinking aloud before understanding the implications of what she'd just said. About to respond, Jesse realized that the connection was lost after more frantic cries from Beth and repeated dull, thwacking sounds. He tried to speak, but only got more static as a response. Shelby gently placed her phone on a drawer, and took Beth into her arms. The baby looked up at her adoptive parent, quieted for a moment, and began wailing again as the beating sounds on the outside of the home grew more insistent. With nothing else to do, Shelby locked herself and Beth inside of the closet in the nursery and began to sing to her child._

"Shit, shit, shit!" Jesse roared, speed increasing every time he imagined the terror in her voice. The young man finally made it to Shelby's home and, with help from all the stunts in his show choir days, cleanly jumped the small fence in her front yard. With a sword in hand—what could he say? It was a family heirloom and it was _quite _dramatic—his blue eyes locked with the glazed, puss-filled eyes of the undead. It was show time. It was now or never.

"STAY. AWAY. FROM. THAT. DOOR." Every word was like fire, and the adrenaline aided him in swiftly, cleanly choping one arm off an elderly man. _'I just—the old man...his arm, and-'_, The UCLA freshman's thoughts were incoherent as he nearly vomited in revulsion. The zombie gurgled incoherently, blue eyes cloudy, as he bent over to retrieve his arm which allowed Jesse to see that a patch of his scalp and skull were missing and shuddered momentarily. As the undead gurgled in pain, the young man realized with horror that a myriad of them were forming around him and the house. With the doors heavily barricaded the only sensible and likely option was a window. Brandishing a piece of fender from Mrs. Corcoran's car he rammed the metal against the window panes. The zombies limped (which was, he supposed, their version of chasing) around the house to catch him as he headed for a window. He gripped the sword, now held in his left hand, and set his jaw in stubborn determination.

"C'mon. C'mon! If I won a fourth national championship then I can break a window." Finally, the glass gave and shards seemed to explode in all directions. Pieces dug into his hands and arms, tearing at his clothing and jeans, and he hoisted himself up. Halfway through the window the young man realized with horror that his right leg wouldn't budge. A zombie's bony fingers wrapped around him like a vise; the same old man from earlier. Ignoring every instinct that said not to hurt the man Jesse focused on the woman and child inside. He twisted around, ignoring the shards cutting deeper into his skin and burying themselves into his raw hands and arms. With a forceful kick he loosed the zombie's hold and the lower jaw sailed into the bushes.

With a final "Oomph!" the freshman had successfully scrambled into Shelby's home. He stopped for a second to catch his breath and tasted bile as he thought of the frail, seemingly harmless, mutilated zombie. A scream reverberated throughout the house and Jesse's eyes frantically scanned the home and saw that the door from the basement had been ripped off it's hinges and bloody hand prints coated the sides.

"MRS. CORCORAN!" He screamed, barreling his way toward the nursery and busting into a scene with Shelby shielding Beth with her body as the zombie tried to pry more pieces of the door away. Occasionally, the zombie groaned as he looked at his hands which were covered in splinters.

Jesse immediately launched into action, thinking that he might as well be in Repo, thinking, momentarily, that maybe the deaths would be less brutal. What organ would be taking? What organ can you take from the undead? The brain was the obvious choice. The curly-haired teen made quick work of the zombie, doing his best to cut the head cleanly. He didn't want his coach scarred for life due to his inadequate bladework. To Jesse's surprise, he found Shelby staring at the scene as he sheathed the sword with shaking hands.

"Why'd you watch that?" He mumbled, suddenly feeling ashamed of himself. She swallowed, tearing her eyes away from the corpse. "...We're going to be seeing more of that, aren't we? I need...to adjust." Shelby rasped, pulling herself up from the floor and trying to make sense of the situation. She ran a quivering hand through her shiny, black hair. "Just—Just hold Beth for me." The coach whispered numbly, retreating down the hallway to a remote bathroom.

Jesse held Beth rather awkwardly, not used to having a small child stare so intently at him. Teenage girls, yes? An infant, no. Just as he was about to ask Shelby how she was, he heard the sound of retching and decided that the inquiry was no longer necessary. He hummed 'Dark Side of the Moon' from Mulan and his cheeks colored as Shelby walked into the room with a small smile.

"It's Disney." Jesse explained smoothly, his expression neutral. "Every child should be introduced at a young age." He paused to consider his argument, "It has quality music."

"Whatever you say. You hit the notes nicely, though." The former coach's eyes filled with mirth as she took her daughter back into her arms and stared Jesse, wondering why she didn't see any glimpses of panic, any recognition of their situation, on his face.

Almost reading her mind the curly haired UCLA student explained; "We, er, have a private jet."

"I heard that your father was a-" Shelby trailed off, knowing full well that relationships in the St. James family were frequently strained. Neither of his parents approved their son 'wasting time with song and dance' which, essentially, was Jesse's dream. No, they proffered that he learn math and science, be a lawyer—be someone useful, successful, affluent just as they were.

"Let's just get going. The streets are clean, I made sure of it on my way in." Shelby nodded, looking rather incredulously at the boy who was not quite a man, and wondered if his father would approve of him now and, strangely, if Rachel ever would again. Logically, she felt that her daughter and the young man she considered to be her son should be happy together. If Rachel was still alive she would approve.

After a tense ten minute run, Jesse welcomed his coach into a world that was once lost to her. It was a world of expensive finery and overwhelming courage. Now she knew where his confidence came from; it wasn't solely from pride, but stemmed more from his hard work, diligence, and belief in a better future. Even if he never admitted it, Jesse would always dig in his heels and keep his head up for a better tomorrow, work for a better tomorrow. He wanted to share a bright world with his sister; the young man wanted her to know a family without constant fights, that was all. Instead it altered his whole train of thought and inspired the attitude of a survivor, even if he appeared to be a mere soulless automaton created for the sole purpose of singing and destroying competition.

The young man selected the small couch, tossed the sword on the floor next to it, and sank into the nonlethal couch, patting it absently since furniture does not have an insatiable desire for brains.

"Where are we going, Jesse?" His pilot inquired, clearly thanking the day he chose a career in this family as it had saved his life.

"New York, of course." He stated simply, effortlessly removing and tossing his bloodstained jacket on the table. Jesse wondered fleetingly, amidst the haze of other thoughts, if the leather would stain his favorite jacket before lying longways on the couch. He shifted, coming to rest his feet on the arm rests out of habit and for more comfort. He couldn't cure his attitude, years of building up his self-confidence entitled him to an effortless amount of swagger and suave behavior...not that he minded.

"You...you survived. How on earth? You're just a boy."

Stifling a yawn, Jesse responded quite flatly with, "No, _of course_ I survived. _I'm_ Jesse St. James." With that the young man shut his eyes, noticing that the pounding of adrenaline had finally dissipated. He began to slip into sleep to ease his spent body and mind, but roused when Shelby chuckled quietly at his response. Said student opened an eye, motioning clumsily to the minifridge.

"Use it. Geoffrey loaded it with stuff for all possibilities...Beth'll have," he yawned as he turned over on his side, "stuff. Yeah...I guess." With that, the exhausted young man literally collapsed once more onto the couch.


End file.
